Finding A Voice

A new place, larger and more comfortable than where we started, and also in a really nice area of town; Charley had made a good move. This would be a pleasant place to come to once a week – maybe there’d even be a fire in the fireplace one winter afternoon. As he sat patiently in his chair and waited for me to tell where I might like to go in our conversation that day, I looked out the window from my spot on the couch and saw a flagpole with an American flag flying in the breeze. Something nice to gaze at occasionally, especially when I felt stuck and didn’t know what to say, as I frequently felt those days. After all, the reason I came to Charley in the first place was because I felt stuck in many ways: now that I had come out to myself and my loved ones as a gay man, what did that mean? How was I going to meet people, much less pursue and handle a possible relationship with a man? What do I want? Look out the window, there’s the flag, something nice to look at.

The flag had as many moods as I brought into the room. Sometimes it would be flying proudly in the wind, sometimes not even a breeze would stir it from where it hung. On certain days I’d sail into the room fairly bursting to share a success or a bright spot in the week, sometimes Id walk in feeling lucky I had found the motivation to drive to my appointment. On stormy days the flag would snap and beat against the wind; I’d rail and bite against injustices in my world. Some days the sun would illuminate the flag against a beautiful blue sky. When I found my first boyfriend in a wonderful chance meeting, there wasn’t a cloud in my sky. And when the relationship died, I felt like the fabric of me would fall apart. Through it all, Charley was patient, gentle, supportive, challenging; in that room I could be myself, say the things I could never admit or say to my friends, even allow substance to the tears that were flowing in my heart. I started trying new things; taking chances, pushing my comfort level, expressing how I felt to those I love, rethinking my stories in a new light. I survived my breakup, and even came to see that not only had I not done anything wrong, but all I had learned about myself in the relationship was worth the experience. In my search to find out what being a gay man meant to me, I took a chance on joining a gay men’s choir and found a place where every part of me is welcomed and valued. And when I looked out the office window at the flag, it stopped being an escape from being stuck, and became more a beautiful thing that was just there, OK and beautiful, in all of its varied moods.

The last time I visited the office, I went with the realization that my reasons for working with Charley and the goals we had established had changed and, in many case, been fulfilled. I walked into Charley’s friendly greeting and immediately noticed something I had never heard before: a rather loud ringing tone that permeated the whole space. I had no idea what it could be, until Charley explained that the ringing was created by the blustery winds outside shooting through the hollow tube of the flagpole. I looked out the window and saw the flag snapping proudly in the wind, and recognized that this was the first time I had heard my friend outside speak. It was a nice sound, but it was also very present, and would not be casually ignored.

I realized in that moment, after a year and a half of time spent together, that the flag and I had both found a new voice. In the days to come, the flag would have times of flying proudly and times when it wouldn’t be able to stir; I’d have days of triumph and periods of despair. Some days the flag would be battered by storms; some days I might need and want to return to this room to have Charley help me see a different way to write whatever story was my life was composing at the moment. But through it all, there is a truth is constant, exciting and wonderful: the flagpole has a voice that is loud, clear and beautiful. With the help and support I found in that room, I too have been able to find a new voice to help me sing my song and write the stories of my life.

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Growing up in the former Yugoslavia, lawyer Djenita Pasic enjoyed the peace of her religiously diverse country. But after the fall of communism and the outbreak of the Bosnian War, Pasic was forced to reevaluate her ideas about religion and tolerance. Click here to read her essay.